


A Bit of Snow and Prophet's Laurel

by Dichotomous_Dragon



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A smol bit of non-sexual nudity, BAMF!Dorian, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 19:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12092148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dichotomous_Dragon/pseuds/Dichotomous_Dragon
Summary: An avalanche messes up a perfectly bland return trip to Skyhold.





	A Bit of Snow and Prophet's Laurel

**Author's Note:**

> Art for this fic was done by the fabulous [MilkyMaccha](http://milkymaccha.tumblr.com/)! Seriously, her art makes for the kind of stab in the feels I wish I could consistently write!
> 
> I owe all the thanks in the world to [Cyber-Fairie](http://cyber-fairie.tumblr.com/) and [Nele](http://fanjapanologist.tumblr.com/) for the beta help (and listening to me whine) and ditto that offer from Flit and 'Nile over on the Discord for offering to read it back when it was an entirely different fic. Cyber, Nele, Lily, thank you all so very much for all the help and boundless encouragment apropping as I failed to do this properly.
> 
> Warnings - none severe, see end note for one minor one

Bull repositioned himself in his saddle, squinting against the rays of the midday sun. The glare reflecting off the previous several days’ snow pierced his skull. The slope of the trail and the cliffs beside it were all but sheer, though not close enough to provide any useful shade til later in the day. That the day had dawned the warmest they’d had in a score of them was a poor trade-off, save that today’s dose of sunshine had done wonders to ease Dorian’s whining, and Bull wasn't complaining.

Dorian rode last in the line of the four of them, seated on what had to be the last camp’s worst horse. His own had thrown a shoe and would've struggled on the climb to Skyhold. 

The fact that they’d make the keep before the dinner bell didn’t hurt, either. Bull could hear Dorian’s accompanying soliloquy - it's as close to a proper bed as one can expect, this far south - and smirked despite himself. A beer or three and a good night’s sleep sounded damn good. More than good, maybe, given that the last time they’d had decent accommodations - right after fixing the mess with the mayor and liberating Caer Bronach - Bull had ended a week of sloshing in the mud and wet with a dry bed and a roof overhead, a decent buzz, and a lapful of sexy ‘vint. They’d had a blast, he and Dorian, or so Bull thought. Three times was enough to make it into his record books, no doubt, but Dorian had been a ball of stress and vitriol ever since. Hard to tell if he was pissy about the wet, or something Bull had said or done.

“Not funny, Varric.” 

Right on queue, Dorian’s voice drifted up to him. Bull sighed. Riding at the head of of the column, Bull hadn’t caught whatever Varric had said, but judging by Dorian’s tone, it had been distasteful. 

“C’mon, Sparkler, you know you’re intrigued.” 

Bull rolled his eye, nudging Flower with his heels. Best to gain a little distance before they truly got going, given the sharpness of both his hearing and his budding headache. Of course the dwarf had to rile Dorian the one time he hadn’t riled himself. 

“I can see your whiskers quivering from here, don’t try to hide it.” 

Dorian’s answering huff was disdain-laden, even at Bull’s distance.“These are not whiskers, Varric, and I’ll thank you not to reuse my lines without proper accompanying citation.” A rustling of cloth suggested Dorian was shooing Varric, a familiar motion made more so from a blossoming friendship with Sera. “Face front and leave me be.”

“Fine, yes, you’ll get your credit,” and oh, that tone meant Varric was not to be easily swayed, “but back to the matter at hand-”

“No.”

“You know you could just -”

“No.” There was an edge to Dorian’s voice now. “I will not entertain your chicanery, dwarf. I will entertain thoughts of my bed and nothing else.”

“I just think you’re being short-sighted about this, Sparkler.”

“Varric, stop pestering,” Evelyn said with a near-audible eye roll, her tone more amused than annoyed. “Nothing good will come of pestering him.”

“I'm not pestering.”

“Oh yes you are,” the Inquisitor said, echoing Bull’s thoughts. He knew he liked her for more than just the demon-banishing her creepy glowing hand could achieve. “Don’t you dare whine if he lights you on fire.” Evelyn snorted. “Actually, when he does? I am not saving your chest hair.” 

Varric gasped. “Such insinuations, Inquisitor! Assuming Sparkler would come to blows over something so trivial, for shame. I’m wounded on our dear Tevinter’s behalf.”

“You’re about to be,” Evelyn giggled, utterly unconcerned. “You can’t hear the Fade warping around him, Varric. I can.”

Despite the ache in his skull, Bull had a quip ready - probably something clever about Dorian’s ass and whatever manner of spell he was going to pull out of it - but lost it when the situation promptly went to shit. 

Above them, invisible beyond the sheer cliff face of ice and rock beside the trail, something sundered with an ominous crack. The echoes drowned, immediately overcome by a rumbling bellow that sounded like thunder.

Varric shouted at the same time the truth raced through Bull’s head. 

Avalanche. Shit.

Adrenaline hammered through Bull’s veins. Every option in his head distilled down to one: run. 

Before his body could make good on his thoughts, bright light flared. Bull flinched so hard his headache twanged behind his temples. 

A rush of golden energy blossomed around the four of them. The warping of the spell still felt to Bull like being dropped off a high cliff and into water, regardless of how many times he felt the odd thinning of the air, the breath-stealing surge of adrenaline, the loudness of wind howling in his ears - then everything oddly muffled as time slowed down. Bull couldn’t hear Dorian’s usual cry, didn’t even really see dome itself. By the time the spell glare and sunspots had cleared from Bull’s eye, the rest of Haste had already set. 

Bull dug his heels into Flower’s sides, leaning forward and down before the nuggalope’s surging charge could unseat him. Evelyn shrieked an order and kicked her hart into a run, alongside him now; Varric’s leggy pony was already bolting up the pass. Bull risked a glance upward and gulped at the wave of white descending the cliff face in slow motion, roiling and churning. Fucking magic, he thought, with no small amount of wonder alongside his panic. 

The worst of the slide looked to be behind them, further down the slope. Ahead of them, the pass was clear. A bend in the trail several horse-lengths away promised safety, if they could clear it in time before Dorian’s spell ran out. If no one’s mount lost footing; if no one toppled from the saddle; if, if, if...

A startled cry interrupted the progression of what-ifs in Bull’s head. Dorian’s horse came galloping past, ears plastered to its skull, easily overtaking Flower. The animal’s stirrups clattered, and its saddle was empty. 

Bull swallowed a mouthful of swears and hauled on Flower’s bit, wrenching her from her gait as she swung round and skidded to a halt just shy of the bend in the trail. He'd owe her an apology treat or four for that later. 

Dorian was on his knees in the snow, one hand clutching at his shoulder. His staff lay in two pieces beside him. Their normal mounts were trained to deal with minor spells - barriers, mostly, for when they had to haul ass and not get their shit ruined while retreating. But Bull was willing to bet the skittish nag the soldiers had leant Dorian had no familiarity with mages or magic. 

Bull lifted his eye to the golden shimmer. It surrounded them still, but Bull could already see the fracture lines in the spelled dome’s iridescent sheen. The edges were starting to fray.

No way Flower was making it down to Dorian and back in time to avoid that wall of snow, falling faster now as the spell holding it back broke down.

No way Bull was leaving Dorian behind, either.

Dorian lifted his head, teeth clenched behind parted lips. His gaze met Bull’s for a moment before he gestured, a one-armed sweep, and a swell of force staggered Bull back, insistent despite his bulk. Across the pass Dorian frowned at him - frowned, like Bull had just insulted his choice of fabrics or something, like he wasn’t about to - 

Then, in a flash of blue light and a wall of white, Dorian was gone. 

Bull threw up his arms, instinct driving him several more stumbling steps back. When nothing made contact, he blinked his eye clear to see the blue shimmer of a barrier fading around him. Everything went quiet.

Mounds of white were settling on the ground, as if the roiling wall of a few moments before had never been there at all.

The landscape that stretched out in front of Bull was completely barren.

Fuck.

Bull was in motion before his brain got done listing the variables, slogging through the snow with his heartbeat pounding a hammer-drum tempo. It was a narrow pass - no cliffs for Dorian to get swept from, not close by. The avalanche would have had to carry him more than a few dozen meters down the slope of the trail to find a space large enough to sweep him away. He’d be stuck beneath all that snow with no way out, but he’d gotten up a barrier, Bull was sure of it. He was just lost. Lost, but not gone. He was alive, he had to be. Bull just had to get to him. As long as he hadn’t gotten crushed by a rock, or cracked his skull, or smothered already-

No. Dorian was reachable. He had to be. 

“Hey ‘vint!” Bull roared it as loud as his lungs were able, using the volume Krem swore he could hear a league away. The sound rattled off the high cliff walls. If Dorian was alive, he’d hear it. “Dorian! I’m here, you asshole! You don’t get to go out like this. Give me a sign so I can dig up your shiny ass!!” There was a breath of stillness as Bull’s voice drifted into echoes and silence. 

Then a section of the trail exploded.

White mounds of snow were obliterated by a hellish gout of searing ruby flame. It torched its path clear down to the worn dirt and stone of the trail, more clear of snow now than it had been before the avalanche, even. Steam hissed in billowing clouds that blinded Bull. He staggered away from its warmth and within moments it was gone. The steam cleared, revealing a clear path etched before him in an arrow-straight line.

At the other end of the line was Dorian, wavering where he stood. The mage’s gaze panned the area, settled on Bull; affirmed by some signal he slumped, hunched over, then dropped to his knees, his proud shoulders rounding as he collapsed into the dirt.

Bull ran to him, feet splashing in the layer of sludge and water that covered the rocks.

“Shit, ‘vint.” Bull turned him over carefully, mindful of any injuries Dorian might have. He gently lifted Dorian more upright with one gentle hand on each shoulder, straightening him. Dorian groaned. Still awake, then. Still alive after being buried, still breathing after burning his way out. Dorian’s clothes were damp, his hands and his right forearm were blistered and bleeding, as scorched as the trail where his magical fire had blazed.

“You tried to come back for me. Fool of a man,” Dorian hissed. A gust of wind jarred his ruined flesh and he curled in on himself, whining, cradling his arms to his stomach. The pitiable sound stole the vehemence from his scolding. “I ruined my sleeves,” he groused, apparently in lieu of snarling at Bull.

Bull crouched, only catching himself crowding when he’d already contorted around Dorian’s hunched body. Don’t crowd others, a memory of Tama’s low chuckle reminded him, but the echo didn’t stop him wanting to touch and soothe and protect.

“You only had one sleeve to start with,” Bull reminded him. Dorian mumbled darkly under his breath, then gasped as Bull scooped him up into his arms. The whole of him was shaking, a full body tremor, but he was alive. His pulse was pounding jackrabbit-fast in his veins, same as Bull’s. “Shit, Dorian. How the fuck did you do that?”

Dorian’s lips parted around his teeth, his face twisting, caught between grin and grimace. “I do believe I heard a great amount of yelling requiring that I present my shiny arse,” he groaned, wincing as Bull jostled him. “Far be it from me to disappoint.”

Bull’s bark of laughter was sharp and humorless, more startled than anything. “That simple, huh? I called and you came. Right, yeah.” His blood was hammering in his eardrums, adrenaline primed with nowhere to go. “You know, if you’d wanted to ride with me, you could have just said so.”

Dorian’s head hit Bull’s chest with a dull thud. “I’d sooner ride that bleating goat of Evelyn’s than arrive to Skyhold awash in your stench, but it appears I’m out of options.”

That was true, but it was also a little too on the nose, given that the last time they’d had a remotely civil conversation had been before they’d fucked. “Maybe next time, ‘vint. Thanks to you, the Boss is halfway up the mountain. Flower’ll have to do.”

“I suppose she must,” Dorian drawled, his entire body tensing with the first step Bull took. Gritting his own teeth, Bull slowed and tried to step lighter, only to draw a huff of annoyance from Dorian. “Unless you’ve managed to sprout magic and are able to conjure up a healer, it’s going to hurt for awhile. I’d rather you just got going.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Bull muttered. If the ‘vint was feeling good enough to snipe at him, Bull had to believe he’d be alright once they got him to a healer. Still, Bull took care not to trip as he hurried towards where Flower was placidly nudging snow around in the hopes of finding something to nibble on. “Gonna put you into the saddle first and climb up behind. No moving now,” he said the last to Flower, who turned her head to lip at Bull’s shoulder. Dorian just mumbled a grumpy affirmative noise and pinched his eyes closed.

Bull lifted Dorian onto the seat side-saddle as carefully as he could, swinging himself up while awkwardly keeping a hand on the mage for balance. It was tough, considering Bull had to balance his ass on the rigid flare of the seat until he managed to settle Dorian into the curve of his arms again. Flower, bless her, stood still as stone throughout.

“What the crap am I supposed to tell everyone, ‘vint?” Bull asked. A rhetorical question - he’d tell them the truth, obviously - but having his blood humming for action and yet nothing to do but ride carefully was fraying his nerves. “You saved our asses and got yourself buried. I was ready to dig your out, save yours back, and you did it your damn self.” Bull shook his head, tightening his grip on Dorian just a hair. 

“Yes, well.” Dorian’s words came slower, like his tongue was too thick to form them properly. “You weren’t fast enough.”

“Not what they usually tell me,” Bull retorted, wincing at his own choice in words. He needed to keep Dorian talking, but Dorian didn’t take the bait. 

The ride felt longer than it actually was, largely due to the slow pace Bull set to keep from rattling Dorian. The distant sound of a lookout’s horn relayed information to the keep as they finally rounded the last bend. Skyhold came into view, its towering walls as inspiring as ever, even if Bull had trouble appreciating them right now. Dorian had passed out almost a mile back, whether from pain or some internal injury. Either way, the only building Bull wanted to behold was the billowing canvas of the healer’s tents.

An extra set of hoofbeats interrupted the steady thumping rhythm of Flower’s feet over the bridge, pulling Bull from his musings. Evelyn closed distance at a gallop, eyes wide in her face, making a tight loop around Flower as her mount slowed.

“Bull? Dorian! How? We saw Dorian’s horse and heard the avalanche...when you didn’t follow...” She stopped talking at the sight of Dorian’s burned hands. Bull figured she was consolidating a thousand questions in her brain, but she had the sense to do it as they continued up the trail. “I sent Varric ahead to get help. I was afraid that-” she physical shook off the thought with a shudder, “Dorian cast Haste, that I knew, but by time we’d gotten far enough away you weren’t behind us. Yet, here you both are. What happened?”

“Dorian’s horse threw him right as we all took off. I didn’t have time to grab him. Think he kept me from trying, actually,” Bull admitted as the Inquisitor hissed. “Threw a barrier and shoved me back as his time spell gave out.” 

“Fucking shit, Dorian,” Evelyn growled. Bull concurred.

“His staff broke when he fell. The avalanche buried him.” The words tangled in Bull’s throat. Stupid, considering the ‘vint was relatively safe, all things considered. Didn’t make it any easier. “Missed me, though. It was barely a minute. He blasted his way out and, well,” he looked down, “you know the rest.”

“Ugh. You needn’t say it like you’re disappointed,” Dorian slurred, stirring. His fingers fluttered along the edge of Bull’s harness.

“Dorian, let us talk about your badassery in peace, why don’t you?” Dorian huffed a pained wheeze of a laugh; Bull’s lips quirked a little. Evelyn’s hand found his forearm. “It’s okay, Bull. You take care of him,” she whispered. “I need to ride back and tell everyone it was a false alarm, but wasn’t, but either way it’s okay because it’s still over.” She shook her head.

“I know right? But, you got it, Boss,” he called out as she moved past him, Flower slowly following several horse lengths behind her as they rode through the gates. 

True to Evelyn’s word, Bull encountered no crowd, save one of the stablehands coming over to him to take Flower’s reins as he dismounted. Dorian patted weakly at Bull’s sternum. “Baths.”

“Healers’ tents first, ‘vint.” Bull said. He tightened his arms around Dorian as he felt the mage shiver. Cold didn’t bother him like it did Dorian, but Bull had spent more than one haggard night up to his tits in snow on jobs that went sideways. After days like that the persistent cold refused to leave, hanging heavy in his bones and blood and chilling him throughout.

Dorian flattened himself to Bull’s chest and sighed. 

“Ugh, no. My room, and then to the baths. Are you deaf? I am in dire need.” The slur in his voice made Bull frown.

“You’re in dire need of a medic,” Bull corrected with a soft snort, already heading towards the stairs. “But if your prissy ass needs cleaning, I s’pose I can help you out. Long as you want me to.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Dorian scolded. He sounded about as ferocious of a flower seed wafting on a summer breeze. “You’re already pawing at me, you may as well continue being useful.” 

“Aww, you’re going soft on me.”

Bull cast a glance downward when Dorian’s answer came in the form of a breathy exhale, more sigh than laugh. The rest of his response was an indecipherable slur as he slumped against Bull’s chest. 

“Hey, Chief!” Krem piped up from across the courtyard, jogging over until he caught up with Bull. “Riiight, that might answer it.” Bull raised an eyebrow. “Got called to rally the boys over an avalanche back on the trail, but before we even make it to the stables, the gate guard called the all-clear.” He frowned at Dorian, limp in Bull’s arms. “Guessing the altus was involved. He looks like shite.” Krem folded his arms at the lack of rejoinder. “That’s also really unsatisfying to point out when he’s too out of it to get prissy about it. He alright?” 

“He’s alright, I think,” Bull said. His second didn’t look altogether convinced, cocking an eyebrow. “But uh, yeah, Stitches,” he allowed, “probably better that it’s him. Dorian’s pissed off the surgeon enough times as it is.” Krem agreed and clapped Bull on the shoulder. 

“I’ll find him and send him your way.” He jerked his chin at Dorian. “His room?”

Bull considered. He’d never been in Dorian’s room, his was certainly larger, but it also had a hole in the ceiling. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah, that skylight of yours won’t fly, he’d fuss.” Krem nodded and gave a quick salute. Bull continued on with his long trudge, grateful the courtyard was largely deserted in the lengthening shadows. As Bull climbed the stairs, Dorian shifted, grumbling little noises of discomfort as Bull’s more indelicate steps jarred his shoulder. From Bull’s vantage point, the burn wounds looked the worst, seeping and blistered and dark. The skin of the ‘Vint’s cheek was clammy and cool against Bull’s chest. Dorian’s lack of complaints was more worrying still, as it was well known amongst the Inner Circle that a complaining Dorian was a largely functioning Dorian.

Bull was a little surprised to note that he actually missed the whining.

“Hate to break this to you,” he told Dorian, in lieu of the much more alien thoughts swirling around his head, “but I doubt you’re going to be able to manage the baths, even with help. Not ‘til we get those burns taken care of.” Bull waited for a vitriolic witticism, or at the very least a disappointed bit of grousing. Neither came. “Dorian?”

Nothing.

“Oy, Beefcheeks!” Sera materialized from one of the side passages and took the stairs up to him two at a time. She was coated in a fine layer of dust and sweat, peppered with droplets of something Bull couldn’t name. Her grin was wide as a chasm and twice as deadly. “‘Member that shit in tavern, right ‘fore you left? Won’t need to be worrying about those ponces from the dele-whatsits heckling the tavern girls anymore. I took care of ‘em. ” She grinned, satisfaction rolling off her like a stench. The actual stench rolling off of her smelled like someone ground up fish innards and smothered them in cedar ash.

Bull shunted his worry long enough to bark a laugh for her, even if he didn’t much feel it. He managed the half-hearted sound right around the time she got a good look at Dorian, and her expression fell. “Do me a favor and have the servants bring some clean washwater to his room?” 

She squinted at Dorian’s prone form, opened her mouth, looked at Bull’s face, then seemed to reconsider. “Riiiight. Right. I can do that, you get him to bed, yeah? Sounds like fancy here had a bigger morning than the poncy gits, even.” She leaned in, frowning when Dorian didn’t say anything. “He’s alright, yeah?

“Yeah, aside from the burns. He’s just tired.”

“Ass ran out of sparkles.” She nodded once, a fierce bob of the head. “I got ya, ‘cheeks.”

“Thanks Sera.”

 

Bull knew where Dorian’s room was and made his way there without issue. Just as he processed that he had no idea where Dorian’s door key was, the heavy wood swung open of its own accord. Dorian’s room was far less flashy than Bull expected, furnished sparsely save for a bureau and a bed piled with blankets. 

“Magic,” Bull muttered under his breath, dipping his head to carry Dorian inside. He swore he heard a quiet snort in response. “Alright, ‘Vint, we get you changed and then we get the healer up here, sound good?”

“As you say, you brute.” 

Bull undressed Dorian carefully - far more so than he had in Caer Bronach, that was for sure - but Dorian’s uncharacteristic lack of commentary twisted Bull’s stomach. He hoped - brightly, desperately - that this wasn’t what he had to look forward to from now on. One night, however fun, hardly seemed worth it.

A quiet knock on the door interrupted the tense silence, allowing them both an outlet as the sound was followed by a soft call. Bull grunted an affirmative and the door opened to reveal his company medic.

“You’ve got him sorted, Chief?” Stitches asked, depositing his bag on Dorian’s tiny desk.

“He’s just about ready for you,” Bull replied, helping the Dorian into a clean pair of soft breeches.

“Good,” the medic answered, and by the time Bull got Dorian propped up against the pillows on his bed, Stitches was descending on him to evaluate. The Chargers’ medic was old hat at this by now, poking and prodding and moving Dorian’s unresponsive limbs where he needed them. 

Though Stitches’s evaluation was quick and thorough, Bull still had to roll his shoulders against the creeping pinch of tension as the medic made his final sweep around Dorian’s person, earning a grumble from the mage as he went.

“What's the ruling?” Bull asked the moment Stitches stepped back to his bag. Bull knew he was dithering like a mother hen and didn’t care.

“Lethargy consistent with mana exhaustion,” Stitches began. “Sweating like he has a fever but his skin’s cold as anything. Probably just his body being out of sorts, as I don’t see anything that looks too terribly deep. The burns are nasty ones, though.”

Dorian frowned without opening his eyes. “I lacked a focus for the fire spell.” His tongue slipped in a slur, tripped by the multisyllabic words. “I had to use a great deal of mana to blast my way out. It was...more function than finesse, I admit.” Bull snorted a laugh. Dorian “I’m the best at everything” Pavus had just shucked the mantle to become the ruling lord of the fucking understatement.

“Right,” Stitches went on, “beyond the mage stuff. The shoulder’s badly sprained, I’m guessing you wrenched it when you fell from your horse?” Dorian nodded. “Nothing a sling and a bit of rest won’t fix, assuming the patient will do as advised,” Stitches grumbled the last as Dorian wiggled again, shifting his weight, trying to get comfortable. The grunt in the medic’s tone actually got Dorian’s eyes open, tired grey flashed alongside a disgruntled frown.

“The patient can hear, thank you.”

“Then the patient should sit still and be silent so we can discuss how best to patch him,” Stitches said. Dorian sniffed and indeed went quiet, lip curled into a pout. Stitches glanced back up to Bull. “The burns are the worst of it. They need a thorough cleaning and debridement, then we can dress the wounds.” 

Bull winced in sympathy. Digging the dead skin and dirt out of fresh burns hurt like the Void, a pain Bull knew all too well from his time on Seheron. Both Dorian’s palms were blistered, as was his right arm to the elbow. 

“What do you need from me?” Bull asked, settling in for the unpleasantness. 

“Moral support, mostly, though you could do me a favor and fetch some clean water for the basin.” Bull advanced to the door and opened it, only to find a second steaming pitcher and a clean basin already waiting in the hall. Damn, Sera was good. 

Stitches smiled wryly at his prompt return, shaking his head a little. 

“Praise be to whatever fortune got that girl on our side.” 

Bull nodded as he brought the steaming bowl inside. Stitches rooted around in his bag, placed some clean bandages on the bureau and settled several bottles of various sizes alongside them. “I’m going to give him a potion that will numb him, first. Once we get done scrubbing, I’ve a second that should start repairing some of the damage from the inside out. That one’s got some lyrium in it. Should help him shake off the fugue of the exhaustion a little.”

Bull leaned against the door, arms folded to keep from fiddling. Stitches would tell him if he was needed.

Dorian, after several minutes, snorted softly, almost as though he’d heard something funny.

“Everything alright, ‘vint?” 

“Relatively speaking.” His voice wavered, like he was laughing but trying to sound serious. He cleared his throat with a deliberate little huff. “Stitches?” 

The medic continued his mixing but he nodded for Dorian to continue. 

“Tell me, are there prophet laurel berries in that concoction you gave me?”

Stitches uncorked the small glass phial he was holding. A smell of burnt leaves and something sour flooded into the air. He tipped a few drops of the pungent liquid into the mortar, sealing the small phial and stowing it back in his bag. “Yes, along with some royal elfroot and a few other ingredients. Why?”

“No reason,” Dorian replied, utterly unconvincingly. He fixed his eyes on a shelf across the room and kept his expression blank enough that Bull was sure something was up.

Stitches’s brow furrowed as he examined the blistered flesh of Dorian’s arm. Even the lightest touch had Dorian flinching away from him, even though the numbing potion had to be fully active by now. The mage focused too tightly on his every move, watching Stitches near his injuries.

“You know, on second thought, Chief, I do have something for you to do.” Stitches jerked his chin at Dorian. “You can distract this one while I work.”

“Hmm?” Dorian hummed a tune and swayed in his seat. When he turned his head and blinked slowly up at Bull’s approach, his eyebrows lifted. 

“You forget I was here? I’m hurt,” Bull joked.. Vashedan. Dorian was high as the parapets.

“Hardly!” Dorian scoffed, but his eyes landed on Bull’s chest and panned up, comically slow. “You are far too much…everything,” Dorian trailed off - but realized it and when he turned away in affront, he overbalanced and nearly toppled face-first off his bed. Stitches moved quickly enough to right him, one hand on Dorian’s uninjured shoulder. With the other, he took hold of Dorian’s chin and gently guided the mage to face front.

“I need you to lie down so I can keep working.” Stitches spoke slowly, maintaining eye contact with his patient. Bedside manner fully engaged, Sera had called it on a mission, once. Skinner had thrown something in agreement shortly thereafter because yeah, it was weird how well it worked.

“Bull’s going to sit. You can use him as a pillow” said Stitches, glancing up. Bull nodded at him.

“If I must.” Dorian sighed, but there was a twist to his lips.

“Not sure if this is better or worse than him normally,” Stitches muttered. 

Bull chuckled.

“Probably better. He’s not usually a very good patient. Anyone else, he’d have gotten bored by now and probably lit something on fire.”

“That was one time,” Dorian hissed. 

Bull grinned and ran his nails through Dorian’s hair in penance, gently massaging as he combed through the dark locks. Dorian grumbled like a perturbed cat but settled, his head cushioned on Bull’s thigh. 

As Stitches worked, Bull started another tale of a Charger mission he was certain Dorian hadn’t heard. He watched Dorian’s shifting expression all the while. Dorian’s left hand was blistered from his efforts, but it wasn’t nearly as damaged as his right, apparently he’d channeled more of the spell through his dominant hand. 

Bull cringed in sympathy. Drugged or not, Dorian was going to feel the next bit.

“On a positive note, there’s not really any dirt in the wound,” Stitches offered, once Bull paused for a breath. His first pass with cloth and water resulted in a full-body flinch from his patient.

“I suspect the flame took care of most of it.” Dorian’s voice was strained, every word forced out past clenched teeth. The lines at the corners of his eyes had deepened to furrows, pinched as he struggled to keep still. Dorian twisted uncomfortably as Stitches continued his efforts, his freshly bandaged left hand scrabbling for purchase on the sheets.

Bull snagged his wrist, easing the bedding loose from his grip. “Easy there. You might not be feeling that now, but you will once the potion wears off.” 

Dorian murmured something in Tevene low enough that Bull couldn’t hear it. A different tactic, then. “Besides, Stitches just got done with those bandages. Be rude as shit to ruin his hard work.” 

The medic made another pass and Dorian outright gasped in pain, fingers curling against Bull’s. 

“Tell you what,” Bull said. “You keep this right here, and I’ll help you keep it there.” He guided Dorian’s hand palm-down onto his chest, over the mage’s heart, and placed his own hand over Dorian’s to keep it flat. He could feel Dorian’s heart hammering where the tips of his fingers met skin. “When Stitches is done, I’ll take you down for that drink you were bugging me about.”

“I am onto your...underhanded tactics.” Bull chuckled at the pun Dorian didn’t seem to catch. “But...that is decent of you,” Dorian breathed. His eyes were screwed shut, so he didn’t see the answering look on Stitches’ face that said alcohol was off the table for a while.

“Don’t go telling people,” Bull said, voice dropping low and serious. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“As a mercenary captain with ah, a dragon fetish and a, a penchant for hideous trousers.” Dorian gasped. Only the weight of their layered hands kept him from arching off the bed to escape the insistent, fiery agony of Stitches scouring his right arm.

“Don’t forget the pink,” Stitches supplied, helpfully mutinous. “Big bastard loves pink.”

Bull shook his head, still threading his fingers through Dorian’s hair. “This is what I get for being too soft.” He’d meant it to sound gruff. As he watched inky black hair part around his steely grey fingers, though, he landed somewhere closer to content then he’d planned. A skittish sort of fluttering tightened Bull’s chest, but Dorian was too out of it to catch the slip.

“It at least makes you, ahh. That is to say, you’ve a serviceable second career as a pillow.”

“Awww, because I’m so supportive?”

“Because you’re so soft,” Dorian said.

“Hey!”

“Alright, the healing salve is next.” Stitches patted his patient’s knee as he turned to gather his next supplies, a wrapped vellum of something that smelled strongly of elfroot. The scent of it filled the air as he opened the parcel to expose the poultice inside. “This is the easy part, relatively speaking. You’ll feel some pressure and discomfort, but the worst of it's over, lad.” 

Dorian's quiet groan of relief wasn't subtle. He sagged under Bull’s hand.

“Hey Dorian, did I ever tell you about the time we had to chase off a guy’s political rival all decked out in feathers?”

A huffed laugh, caught somewhere between annoyed and fond. “Only a dozen times, Bull. You don’t tell it nearly as well as Cremisius and Dalish do. Their version comes with pantomime.”

“Not my fault I can’t mimic that motion! Look at these muscles, Pavus.” He lifted one arm and flexed. “No way this much bulk can flap like that. I don’t have Dalish’s skinny archer arms…”

“I should think the horns detract, besides.”

“While you're busy lamenting that you're out of tales,” Stitches cut in, “you can grab that second bottle. We’re far enough along now, you shouldn’t need another tale anyway.”

“The Iron Bull without a yarn? Perish the thought.” Dorian's voice was breathy and his features were drawn, but he seemed to be doing his damndest to stay chipper despite it all. 

Still, when Bull took his hand from Dorian’s to reach for the potion, it sounded like the ‘vint gave a disappointed sigh.

“I travel with his company, serah. A man can dream,” Stitches offered.

“Yeah, yeah.” The bottle Stitches had mixed earlier was larger than most of their travelling potions, bolstered by his additions. The liquid inside was an odd shade of lavender and glowed faintly blue. “Bottom’s up, big guy,” Bull said, easing Dorian upright with a hand behind his back. With his left hand bandaged and Stitches working diligently on his right, he was all but a dead weight. 

“This is hardly the drink I asked for,” Dorian remarked. His face was pale and sweat-soaked, but he graced Bull with a tired smirk as he obediently parted his lips. Bull stared at them - plump for a man’s, a fact he knew quite well - but he took several seconds too long, apparently, because Dorian had to quirk an eyebrow to remind him to move. Bull tipped the potion into his mouth and Dorian shuddered at the icy, medicinal burn. Stitches choked down a soft laugh as he pulled out the last of the bandages. 

“Riiiiight. Well, I suppose it’s a good thing he’s still out of it enough to be joking, even if it’s on your level of humor, Chief.”

“Hey!” Bull groused. Dorian’s smirk broadened until Stitches resumed his work, binding the last of his forearm with linen. “The sass is not what I pay you for.” 

“Ancillary benefit,” Stitches countered, at the same time Dorian said, “You don’t pay me at all.”

“Sedition in the ranks, I tell you,” and when Dorian chuckled at that he added, “No one asked you.” Bull’s rumbling growl matched not at all with the gentle scratches of his nails through Dorian’s hair. The mage’s eyelids drooped and his mouth quirked, despite a wince as Stitches finished his work. 

A quiet knock on the door interrupted the comfortable silence. Bull helped Dorian sit up and hauled his bulk to his feet. Stitches tied his final knot and began tidying his things. Bull made sure Dorian could keep himself upright - his balance wavered but held - and grabbed the basin of dirty water to set it out for the staff.

He opened the door to find the Inquisitor smiling hesitantly up at him, a steaming basin of hot water in her arms. Evelyn still looked lovely, despite still being in her travel clothes. She’d clearly been to the war room and there were heavy, dark circles under her eyes. Nerves had her fidgeting, but good breeding and a lot of training kept her from leaning around Bull to peer into the room. Nice to know someone other than him was worried about their resident Altus. 

"Evening, Boss,” Bull smiled, setting his bowl down in the hall and relieving Evelyn of hers. He stepped out of her way with an amicable head tilt, fetching the water pitcher from the hall as well.

“Hello Bull,” Evelyn replied, slipping by him into the room. “Stitches.” 

“Evening, Your Worship. If you’ll allow me just a moment, I’ll get out of your hair.” She nodded with a quick “Of course” and hesitated just inside the threshold, folding her arms to wait. 

Stitches slung his pack onto his shoulder, setting three additional bottles on the bureau as he stood, pointing them out to his patient. He waited for Dorian to lift his gaze before continuing. 

“Alright, Altus. One more of the tall bottles before you sleep, another when you wake up. The third - the small one - you can use if the pain gets too bad. I left a packet of the salve and some wraps so Bull can redo your bandaging, and an extra piece he can use for a sling. Come see me tomorrow and I’ll check the wounds, and mix you some more potion if you need it. It doesn’t keep well. You follow all that?” 

Dorian nodded, as obedient as Bull had ever seen him. 

“Good.” Stitches gave Dorian a pat on the knee and offered Bull and the Inquisitor a nod. “He’s all yours.”

“Thanks, Stitches.”

Evelyn questioned, stepping further into the room once the medic had gone. “Well? What’s the ruling, Serah Pavus? You yet live, that’s a start.” Dorian rolled his eyes.

“I spare the Inquisition a proper search party and a huge amount of digging, and this is the recognition I get.” Dorian let his head roll to face Evelyn, a sardonic quirk to one brow. “I am left shirtless and filthy amongst the heathens.”

“Hey, I like being shirtless,” Bull chimed in, “-and filthy can be a lot of fun.” 

Right on cue, Dorian made a disgruntled little ugh. “Case in point.” He angled his head in Bull’s direction. 

Evelyn laughed. “Alright, I have to get back to the advisors.” She gave Bull a laden look but ultimately nodded. “I’m leaving you in good hands, I think,” she told Dorian.

“Despite lacking a full set of fingers, yes, quite.” He fluttered a bandaged hand at her. “Now shoo. This heathen owes me a bath and I don’t need spectators for that.” Evelyn raised a brow at Bull, who shrugged off the unspoken question.

“Right. I’ll let Sera know you’re well enough to sass. I’ll come check on you in the morning.”

“If it’s before noon, I will light you on fire,” Dorian called. Evelyn laughed and blew him a kiss, her voice muffled by the closing door.

“So, I owe you a bath.” Which really was a different issue altogether. Dorian was awake, barely, blinking at Bull in what seemed like confusion, despite his leaning into every touch.

“Yes, yes you do.” They looked at each other for a long moment. Dorian squinted at him, frowning. “What, do you need a formal invitation? I’m exhausted and a bit looped on the damn potions, Bull, but I’m not drunk. You promised me a bath. Get to it!”

“Bossy,” Bull said, and complied. It wasn’t hard to find Dorian’s stash of soap, and thanks to Sera, Bull had hot water at the ready. He unlaced Dorian’s breeches and set them close by before getting to work, thankful that Dorian didn’t seem uncomfortable with his presence. 

Bull’s movements were gentle as he cleaned the grime from the road from Dorian’s skin in long, sweeping strokes with cloth and soap. It could have been erotic, after all their thinly veiled verbal advances. Easily could have been, given their individual historic lack of scruples about their sexual partners, and their recent romp at Caer Bronach, but Bull wouldn’t allow it. The entire Inner Circle had seen each other naked, of course, that was nothing new. They had all had their hands on each other, soothing wounds that needed closing or helping with armor too tough to don when exhausted or injured. All had coped in their own ways, but ultimately had gotten over modesty in the face of the necessity war presented all too often.

The moment was intimate, however, quiet and close, and perhaps that was the difference. Bull was always careful about his size, but this felt like a step beyond even that. He made certain that every movement of his fingertips was gentle; the placement of his hands, deliberate. He wanted Dorian, that hadn’t changed, but Bull wanted him well far more than he wanted him naked. He kept his hand along the underside of Dorian’s wounded arm as he avoided the burns, cradling some of the weight to spare Dorian’s sprained shoulder. 

Trailing downward, Bull firmly rubbed the cloth into the arch of one foot to hold Dorian steady without tickling the sensitive skin. Halfway up his inner thigh, businesslike, Bull’s other hand moved the cloth softly between Dorian’s legs. Bull paid no more or less mind to Dorian’s cock than he had any other area. Bull still smiled a little as the cloth returning to Dorian’s side, along his ribs, is what made him finally fail to suppress a full body shiver. 

“I’m not ticklish,” he groused, frowning at Bull’s smile. “And I’m not fainting into your arms, either, so you can wipe that smug look off your face.”

Contrary asshole, Bull thought, but he only replied to Dorian with an exaggerated wink. “Yeah yeah, whatever you say, ‘Vint, but I still have to wash your hair. Get over here.”

A bit of pained shuffling on Dorian’s part and some scavenger hunting on Bull’s led to DorIan draped on his bed, head over a chair and the basin resting on it. He shivered a little as Bull wet his hair. With the scent of his shampoo heavy in the air and Bull’s gentle fingers scrubbing gently against his scalp, though, Dorian did indeed seem to wilt a bit, the tension leaching from his tired muscles.

“Y’know,” Bull said after a span of comfortable silence, “it’s nice to see you relaxed around me for a change. You haven’t been in awhile.”

“Ah.” Just like that, stress coiled in the lines of Dorian’s neck and shoulders as though it had never left. “So now we’re talking about it amongst ourselves, in private, rather than with our associates out in the Maker-forsaken wilderness?” His voice rose on every word. Bull didn’t escalate, and didn’t stop washing.

“Hey, you didn’t tell me not to talk about it.”

“I thought it implicit!” Dorian snapped. “That’s how this manner of distraction always works.”

“Not always,” Bull countered. His voice rumbled soft and low in his chest. His fingers were gentle, rubbing small circles against Dorian’s scalp. Infuriating, that Bull was so sweet and simultaneously vexing.

“Oh yes,” and Dorian, damn him, could not purge the tang of bitterness from his voice, “who could forget that the great Iron Bull has bedded half the soldiers and castle staff, nevermind every passing dignitary with a bit of curiosity that happens by? Surely the tales alone should speak for themselves.”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Bull shook his head as though Dorian was the one being ridiculous. “Not what I meant. I mean, have you seen yourself? Of course I wanted to brag!”

“Ah.” Dorian spat the words like poison, like they were flavored with an ugly sentiment he knew too well. Bull understood, suddenly, and distaste curdled on his tongue.

“Hey, Dorian. Look at me.” Dorian, petulant to the last, kept his eyes closed. Easier to be a pest and have Bull drop the topic than- 

The big fingers settling on his chin did not allow for debate, however, no matter how painful the knot in his chest. When Dorian caved and did as Bull asked, it was with a blasé affectation Bull trusted not at all. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Bull explained. “I mean yeah, you’re hot, but that’s not it. Hot is fun for few hours. That’s all well and good. But you? You’re a fuckin’ badass, Dorian. You care, and you're a sweet guy on top of that. Not to mention you gave as good as you got. I mean, damn.” His let his smile be truthful, lopsided and fond, one wet thumb tracing over Dorian's cheek. "Shit yeah, I wanted to brag."

Dorian blinked up at him, stunned to silence for far longer than his wit usually allowed. Finally, belatedly, he cleared his throat. “Erm. Of course.”

“Speechless, damn. I should write this down.”

“Hapless flattery will only get you so far,” Dorian replied flatly. 

“Hey, it got me one pretty good night,” Bull grinned. “Maybe I can flatter another one out of you.” Dorian groaned, but the sound wasn’t as disgusted as it might have been. “Sort of disappointed me the last time, y’know,” Bull admitted after a long moment, sitting on the chair and tugging Dorian closer. The height difference put his eye at collarbone level, making Dorian the taller of the two of them. Dorian’s own gaze got hung up on the rough ridges of Bull’s horns. 

“Hmm?”

Bull chuckled at his painfully short attention span, hands gentle as he unbound the sling. “It was disappointing, not getting to take care of you properly.”

“As I recall, you took care of me several times,” Dorian blinked at him, confused. “You certainly did not get any complaints from me regarding the service.”

“Nah, not like that,” Bull shrugged his immense shoulders, nonchalant as his maimed hands marched down Dorian’s shirt, loosening one button at a time. Dorian swallowed hard, entranced just with watching him. “Orgasms are great and all, but the best part for me? Getting to see what comes after.” Dorian allowed himself an inelegant snort.

“Yes, the mess you make of people is rather legendary, I’m certain,” he snickered it, arching a pointed eyebrow at Bull’s crotch. The answering rumble of Bull’s laugh was a reward; feel of those calloused palms brushing over his skin as his shirt slipped down his shoulders, a delightful bonus.

“So dirty,” Bull chuckled, “but no, much as I love a good mess, the bigger thing is getting to see the come down. No pun intended.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “See, there’s some people who are what they are, all the time. But then there’s this guy I know. He’s a rare guy.”

“‘Rare,’ is it?”

“Yeah,” and for a moment, Bull swore he could see something like awe in Dorian’s expression. The openness of the look snared him, penning his breath in his lungs. “Yeah.” 

“Who knew flattery was one of your many talents? Aside from me, earlier this very evening.” He said it suspiciously. Bull just grinned lopsidedly and didn’t reply, running his rough palm back across the muscles of Dorian’s side.

“I have other talents you could take advantage of,” the qunari offered. Dorian’s facade cracked under the force of his wince. He shifted his weight.

“I’m not likely to be good company. Besides,” Dorian barely stifled a yawn, but still could not help shivering agreeably at the feeling of Bull’s calloused palm dragging against his skin. “You’ve lost the entire day to me, surely there is someone else worthy of the great Iron Bull’s attentions?”

A one-shouldered shrug was Bull’s answer, but his eye was intent on Dorian’s face. “I dunno. A mouthy, pretty ‘Vint who saved my hide? Seems like a pretty good way to spend my time to me.” His maimed hand wrapped around Dorian’s good wrist, guiding the bandaged palm towards his face. His lips pressed imperceptibly to the linen, impossibly kind. “What do you say, ‘Vint? You gonna let me take care of you?”

“You just…” Dorian’s open-mouthed expression was a thing of beauty, much as Bull knew the ‘Vint would disagree with him. He looked disarmed, staring back at Bull, all wide eyes and wonderment. Those eyes narrowed, though, the longer he ran circles in his head. “Why?”

“Because if there was ever a day you deserve it, it’s today, don’t you think?” Bull’s free hand reached up and Dorian, in his weakness, leaned into the open palm. The shape was perfect against his cheek, warm and welcoming. “Wouldn’t mind doing it more often, though. I mean, all that badassery, doing all the work after you saved rest of us. Besides, I have it on good authority that I make a damn fine pillow.”

“That’s what you’re suggesting? Sleep?”

“You’re exhausted, Dorian. You need rest. Besides, I wouldn’t take advantage with you loopy on Stitches’s potions.” He patted the bed with his maimed hand. “So? What do you say?”

“That I don’t understand you at all,” Dorian yawned, obliging as Bull reached to tug him closer. “But one more night sleeping beside you will hardly change anything.”

A small, niggling feeling in Bull’s head argued that it might in fact change everything, but he settled it much like Dorian settled carefully into the curve of his side.  
“Go to sleep, ‘vint,” Bull murmured, reclining back against Dorian’s headboard. Cramped but content, Bull fell asleep to the sounds of Dorian’s breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning - some graphic description of Dorian's burns


End file.
